


Opportunity.

by SansInNovember



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is gender neutral, Some Plot, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansInNovember/pseuds/SansInNovember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing that one day you'd jerk off a skeleton fills you with DETERMINATION.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opportunity.

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing in wingdings. It's too bad ao3 doesn't support the symbols/all the symbols. ☺

(**** ****** *** ******)  
(*** ******** ***** *******)

You feel the sounds press against your mind as your vision clouds over and a dreadful cold sinks into your bones. Your senses feel invaded like something is trying to drag them away from you. It feels like gravity is suddenly trying to crush you. Existence is so, so heavy. You’re consumed with feelings of confusion and fright because you don’t feel alone in your head but you’re distracted very quickly by a sharp pain that drives into your skull instantly like a lightening bolt. In an instant it feels like your head’s splitting open and you’d swear your bones were splintering under your skin. The sensation devours you whole but there is no one to help you as you crumple to the floor.

You feel something pooling out of you. You can’t see it, or you don’t think you can see it the way you normally could, but you know what’s there. It doesn’t make sense. Everything is black but you know that whatever is pooling around you isn’t blood.

(** **** ** *****)  
(***'* ** ****)

What? Your body feels like it weighs five times as much as it normally does as you force yourself to your feet. Your head is still pounding, and you think in passing that it’s been such a long time since you’ve have a tangible form but you didn’t miss the headaches. It feels like something you thought, although you’re not sure if it’s entirely yours either. You feel yourself start to move, and even if it’s voluntary, you can’t help but feel like a spectator to it at the same time.

(***'* *****)  
(** ***'* ** ****)

You wander through your blind abyss, each step making you feel more disoriented and cold as the voice in your head murmurs to you. It sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard before as it wraps around your thoughts. You’re aware that whatever is there is definitely trying to comfort you as it drags you a million miles away but it’s so gradual and patient that you just sort of let it happen.

Before you know it, you’re at a familiar place and you think about how long it’s been since you’ve been here. You’ve forgotten the concept of time as a practical measurement that people use for whatever it is they use it for these days. But days really have no beginnings or endings so it’s ultimately pointless in the most amusing way possible. 

You reach for the door and knock, and it’s the first time you’ve actually looked at yourself since this all began. With casual horror, you can see your hand. You can actually see both of them rather clearly. You stare at them, almost mystified, and large holes in the center of your palms. You don’t remember injuring yourself but haven’t they always been there?

(** *** ****** **** **** ****)

You’re doubtful but you’re pretty sure about it too. Multiple hands begin to appear and wave in front of you as if to prove this point, and you feel like you’re arguing with yourself when the door opens.

“oh hey buddy, what brings you here-”

The hands vanish and you find yourself staring at Sans. You can see him as clearly as you see yourself, and there’s something quite beautiful about it. Your entire being swells with warmth knowing that it’s where it should be, it travels within your nerves, although Sans’ smile had faded the moment he looked at you and was replaced with a troubled expression.

“h-hey, pal, are you okay?” Sans moves towards you, though very hesitantly, “you’re, uh, lookin’ a little pale…”

You open your mouth to speak, but instead cough up black liquid that splatters onto his clothes. In that moment, his eye lights up with the most brilliant shade of blue that you had long forgotten about, although he quickly covers it with his hand in an attempt to try and hide or contain it. You feel happy and excited as you loom over him and he backs away. You sense that he’s nervous. You feel taller than you remember.

“*'* ***** *** *** ****** *********, ****.” 

You’re slightly shocked at the sound of your voice as you manage to spit out those words. It doesn’t sound anything like you think it should. You reach out to Sans and take hold of him with six hands. You can feel him trembling in your grasp.

“i don’t understand,” Sans’ voice is riddled what you decide is torn feelings and multiple questions, “how do you know this language?”

“* ***'* **** **** ****, *** * ***** ** *********** *** **** **.”

You feel like the closer you get to Sans, the brighter his eye is getting. The light flickers like a soft flame through his boney fingers, curling and turning gently before disappearing into the air. It seems to bother him as he turns his head away from you. With so many appendages at your apparent disposal, it’s not even a problem to turn his head back towards you while forcing his hand away. His face has a faint glow to it in that same lovely shade of blue when he looks back at you, and you find his embarrassment endearing. You know he doesn’t have any control over it right now, which is evidently perfect.

You wonder somewhere what’s happening and what you’re even trying to do. You’re really interested in what you see, but you remind yourself that you’re still in the doorway, aren’t you? You know your intentions aren’t quite innocent enough to continue right here, however, it’s nothing to take it elsewhere. You’re reassured something about doors and doorways or something to that extent, but your brain refuses to let you understand whether it’s for your own sake or there is just not enough room for it. There is just patience.

You sense that you’re taking Sans somewhere, and your head starts to throb again. You can hear the skeleton’s voice but it sounds so distant along with your own. You’re both speaking that strange language that your tongue stubbornly doesn’t want to work with. It feels like you’re bleeding and you’ve fractured on the inside. There’s a trail of you left everywhere you go and always has been. The atmosphere changes and you’re not sure where you’ve went though it wasn’t very far, but nowhere close to Snowdin. It’s not really close to anywhere but so easy to get to if you’re looking to have fun.

You feel something about reality but the actual reality is flustered skeleton you’ve been pushing down to the floor in private while absentmindedly listening to a conversation through a mental brick wall.

The part of you that is definitely still you found it curious that skeletons could be warm as your fingertips touch upon his sternum from underneath his shirt and smooth along his ribs delicately. Something about touching bones like this disturbs you but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Small bubbles of contradictory delight rise up in your own chest as you continue to explore, your fingers moving from the lumbar vertebrae up to the thoracic and Sans squirms beneath you.

He looks uncomfortable as you touch him, not because it’s painful, but more like he’s trying to hold himself back, and you think to yourself that you didn’t make all this effort just so it could be like this. The way that you’re feeling is rather new and the way your body wants to respond is very interesting as well, but it’s not so important right now.

You trace your fingers back down his spine in a thoughtful fashion that takes care to feel him slowly, while wrestling down his baggy shorts at the same time. Not really trying to take them off but just enough to get to the sacrum. When you touch there, Sans starts to sweat a little and fight, albeit reluctantly, against the hands keeping his arms pinned to the ground.

“h-hey, being pretty forward aren’t you?” He says, searching your eyes, looking for you. You stare back and even though he’s right there, and the only thing worth being in your sight, it’s not your vision. He’s uneasy about this. An open book like always. It’s cute.

“* **** ** ******,” you hear yourself reply but in your own head it’s slightly disjointed, like a skipping record. You lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek bone, as it was a lucky chance that you happen to have lips. You find that even his skull is soft, softer than the rest of his body. Both of you are so, so warm. It’s almost overwhelming.

You begin to stroke his coccyx in slow methodical motions and he twists around in reaction to it. You’re amused, and the glow to his face becomes stronger and the droplets of sweat roll down his skull in his pleasured torment. He makes quiet noises in response. It’s still held back, though you can’t complain about the improvement. He moves like he’s in protest but doesn’t ask you to stop.

As you listen to his approval, you stroke the bone with more confidence, making your movements a little faster. The bone in your hand feels like it’s getting sticky and you never had the opportunity of experiencing textures like this before and it’s terribly fascinating. You’re feeling stranger still, and because it’s unfamiliar, you don’t know entirely how you’re supposed to deal with this craving. 

You become so fixated on what you’re doing and how you’re feeling, that when Sans asks you to stop holding him down you almost don’t respond but the hands release as if they have a mind of their own. 

The skeleton wraps his arms around you to pull you closer. You’re a little surprised at the unexpected gesture. You listen to him make sounds like he’s out of breath as he buries his face into your neck, though you don’t feel anything. You smile and continue, the stickiness feeling thicker and thicker, and it doesn’t take long before his bones shudder and his fingers dig into your back to the point that it hurts a little. Even when he relaxes, you can still feel him quivering.

“***** ***** **** ****,* **** *** *** ******* **,” you say to him with a slightly chuckle. When you pull your hand back, you find it smothered in a luminescent goo which is exactly what you assume it might be. You’re tempted to lick it, but being unsure which side wants to see what it tastes like, you ultimately decide against the idea not knowing if it can, or should be, ingested by humans. You settle for letting it web between your fingers as you play with it.

“i can’t believe this just happened,” Sans covers his face shyly, “you really know how to rattle my bones, you know that?”

Your eyes trail over to him, and you open your mouth to speak but your vision begins to flicker. It looks like it’s time to go. You feel dreadfully cold like you had in the beginning and you withdraw from Sans, sitting back as your body starts to shiver violently. The pain is coming back and you’re afraid. It happens so quickly and you hate it. Your body had become used to the invasion and now it’s like a thousands needles pulling out slowly all at once. You don’t understand why it has to hurt so much. You feel sick and apologetic about it all.

You turn your head away, coughing to the point that it feels like you can’t breathe before it forces you to vomit more of that black substance you spat up at Sans earlier. There’s a loud buzzing ringing in your ears as it feels like the liquid won’t stop pouring out from your mouth, and you think that Sans is saying something to you and you feel his fingers touch your hair because it’s absolutely electric on your skull.

Everything becomes pure white while you feel like you're drowning and presumably, or at least from you could gather, you pass out as the world vanishes from sight.

In a short dream, you see a tall figure standing before you. His face looks broken and his hands have the same holes that yours did. He has a wide smile on his face, and he murmurs something to you before his smile grows and his eyes widen. And then, he’s gone.

You’re not going to remember this. Please forget about me.

You come to, probably after some time, feeling like you were hit with a sack of bricks. Your vision has returned to normal, if not slightly more monochrome than you remember. You sit up and see Sans’ jacket on the ground that had been folded into a makeshift pillow. It’s covered in black stains. You feel guilty.

Sans is still there, sitting against the wall and he looks over to you. He has a bottle of ketchup in his hand which leads you to believe that at some point, he had wandered away and left you here. Typical Sans, you suppose. He’s weirdly quiet, watching you as he sips his condiment.

You can see that you’re in Waterfall, you start to wonder how you made it all the way over here when vague memories touch the surface of your mind and your face turns red. It’s like a wild fantasy you never asked for, and you’re secretly mortified at the slight frustration it makes you feel deep inside.

“Sans, oh my god, I-”

“it’s, uh, it’s okay, pal,” he says to you, “we don’t have to talk about it right now.” He glances away and you can see that you’re not the only one who is blushing. It’s still sinking in for both of you.

You still apologize profusely to Sans and he simply laughs it off taking you back to Snowdin to stay the night. Or a few nights, he’s not sure. He refuses to let you go home no matter how many times you try and reassure him that you’re okay. He makes excuses you can’t refuse- that Papyrus likes hanging out with you and it’s always more fun with other people around the house, and someone has to eat all that spaghetti in the fridge. You can tell he’s concerned, and rightfully so, even if he doesn’t outright say it. Maybe he’s trying not to worry you about something more serious.

Later on, when you look at yourself in the mirror, your reflection reveals scars on your face that you don’t remember having before. They look familiar, although you can’t place where you’ve seen them. One trails upwards from one eye all the way into your scalp, and the other descends down from your other eye towards your mouth.

You catch Sans staring at you more often, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Neither do you.


End file.
